


Extracurricular

by roanniom



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Professors, F/M, Professor!Charlie Barber, Professor!Charlie Barber AU, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 19:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30077250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roanniom/pseuds/roanniom
Summary: When you visit Professor Barber's office to discuss the latest draft of your thesis, you can't help but get distracted - and he can't help but notice.
Relationships: Charlie Barber & Reader, Charlie Barber & You, Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Extracurricular

You tap timidly on the doorframe, peering over the threshold to find Charlie lounging back in his desk chair, speaking softly on the phone. Whoever is on the other end must have said something funny because his face breaks out into a beautiful smile, one the only gets wider when he hears your knock and looks up to find you watching.

“Alright Henry, I’ll talk to you later. Love you, buddy.” Charlie puts his phone down on the desk and beckons you forward. You take a seat in the cushy leather chair he has set out for students, placing your bag neatly at your feet, crossing your ankles and tucking them to the side. There’s something about being in Charlie’s presence that makes you want to be prim. Want to come across proper and beautiful and refined.

Charlie leans forward, elbows on the surface of the desk, chin resting on clasped hands.

“I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“Not at all!” you’re quick to confirm. “And that phone call seemed important.” Charlie lets out a warm chuckle.

“My son, Henry, has a baseball game this weekend and wanted a few pointers. Poor kid, having me for a father in moments like this,” he adds, shaking his head with humor.

“Not much of a sportsman, I take it?” you ask, a gentle tease in your voice.

“You know, as luck would have it, dedicating your life to three degrees, a PhD program, and a healthy amount of historiographical research doesn’t really lend itself to tossing the ol’ pigskin around.” The corner of Charlie’s mouth quirks up and you curl your hand into a fist, letting your nails bite into your palm to dull the swooping feeling that overtakes your internal organs. This seems to go unnoticed by Charlie, who continues to conversation. “What about you? Managed to maintain any hobbies?”

“I used to play a few instruments. But that was before…” you trail off, looking down at the thick binder balanced in your lap. Charlie laughs and completes the statement.

“Before your thesis took over your life? Don’t I know how that feels.” He reaches a hand out then. “And that’s a perfect segue – let’s take a look, shall we?”

You hand him the binder over the desk and the two of you settle into your regular weekly routine of dissecting your current progress. Of course, its more Charlie talking than you. It’s always Charlie talking. And you love it that way. The way he drops his nose into your work, focused on your words and waxing poetic about your structure and sources and approach – it gives you the time to appreciate all the things you love about him. For starters, the way the muscle of his forearm flexes as he drags a guiding finger across the page in time to his reading – exposed as it is where he rolls his long sleeves up to the elbow by 3pm. It’s now 6pm, as it always is for your weekly check-in, and the setting sun outside his window bathes him in a warm light. At one point, when the shadows grow too long, Charlie switches on a small desk lamp to guarantee he’ll be able to still see the pages of your binder even as the sun disappears for good, as it often does during these meetings.

This week you’re lost in thought as you take him in. Charlie – your professor. Your thesis chair. Your mentor. But also, Charlie – the star of all of your fantasies. The subject of your nighttime musings and the daydreams that come, unbidden, as your eyes slip out of focus during class, blurring his animated figure in the middle of one of his lectures, leaving space for your mind to manipulate his form into every position imaginable. You watch his large hands turn a page in your binder deftly. The broad fingers that you picture sliding across your skin the way they slide across the paper. Fingers that would fit so perfectly inside you, in whatever capacity he wished…

Your thoughts trail off as the sound of your name brings you to a sudden awareness, realizing from the tone that it has been repeated, and possibly more than once based on the sympathetic look on Charlie’s face.

“I-I’m sorry, did I space out?” you stutter, feeling hot embarrassment spread over your whole body to the roots of your hair.

“A bit, yeah.” Charlie is still sympathetic. You hope for a second that he’ll take pity on you, chalk it up to exhaustion and let it go. But the stare he fixes you with is nothing short of intense as he closes your binder, seeming to consider something.

“It’s been a really hard day, I’m sorry Professor Barber - ”

“Charlie,” he corrects without missing a beat. His brow furrows. “You always call me Charlie. What’s with the formality all of a sudden?”

You take in his quizzical face as you gape back, not sure that there’s really anything you can say that will appropriately explain the way your brain has tuned into a channel that’s exclusively made up of static. The way your tongue has gone fuzzy and heavy in your mouth.

“You were like this today in class as well. And the last few classes, come to think of it,” Charlie goes on to observe. He clasps his hands over your binder on his desk and your eyes immediately follow the motion – a fact he does not miss. “Always staring, I’ve noticed, at my hands.”

Your eyes slam shut quicker than they’ve ever done before and you suck in an exhale so fast in practically sounds like a hiccup. You can’t see Charlie anymore, but you can hear the low chuckle that rumbles from somewhere in the bottom of his chest. Panic makes your throat feel parched, makes your tongue dart out to wet your lips instinctively. When you open your eyes you find his trained on those wetted lips before slowly lifting up to hold your gaze.

“Any reason for this?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

You must be dreaming.

You’ve had these dreams before. They are the best kinds. The ones that sound like shitty porn but in the best way because they are perfectly tailored to your interests, your desires, your preferences. Dream Charlie has asked this question before, when your head laid on your pillow at two in the morning, desperate for sleep. You know the answer you often gave Dream Charlie, so almost on instinct you offer it now.

“I’ve found myself…distracted lately.”

“Are you suggesting that I am the distraction?”

Right on cue. The slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. The haze behind his eyes. The playful nature of the question. You have to be dreaming. The burning sensation in your throat, the one which had been playing with your nervous gag reflex, drops to your stomach and lower.

If this is a dream, you might as well follow the script, since you know it by heart after all.

“Yes, professor.”

It’s small, the reaction. The tightening of his jaw – so infinitesimal a lesser observer might not have noticed. However, you – a student of the planes of this man’s face – immediately notice the way the angle of his jaw becomes sharper. The way his cheek sucks in just a little, just enough to make his cheekbone a fraction more prominent. His teeth must be set on edge because he rolls his jaw for a second before parting those plush lips. So plush and so pink – a color you’ve wanted to taste and touch before putting a name to it.

“If I have been compromising your ability to focus on your studies in any way, my dear, I promise that it’s not been my intention.”

The words are so kind and yet so silky smooth in their delivery, it’s like he’s trying to caress your ear with the statement. It makes you smile. Especially the new term of endearment.

You might be a good-girl-to-the-core in real life, but you’ve always given Dream Charlie a bit of a hard time.

“Are you sure about that?”

Charlie’s smile expands to mirror your own. He leans back in his chair a bit, settling his still clasped hands over his lap, now out of view behind the desk.

“I might have derived a bit of pleasure from recognizing that your lack of focus was my fault,” he says with a nonchalant shrug.

“So you admit it?”

“What exactly am I admitting?”

“That you were actively trying to distract me.” You cross your legs one over the other and lean forward, knowing that the new position allows your skirt to ride up a bit and expose your thighs a little more. Knowing that with Charlie’s height and this angle, your cleavage will appear to its best advantage. The need to remain prim and proper which you had felt so deeply in your bones upon entering this office melting away as fire heats up in your core.

“Only on one condition, sweetheart.” Charlie cocks his head to one side before continuing. “You’d have to admit you’ve been trying to distract me this entire time as well.”

The breathless laugh that you let out is genuine.

“I absolutely have not.” But Charlie is shaking his head vehemently.

“With those skirts and those thigh-highs.”

“That’s fashion!” you protest, pulling your skirt a bit lower unconsciously. “You ever heard of dark academia? It’s a look!”

“Giving me eyes. Biting your lip when you raise your hand.” He’s teasing you. It’s clear in his eyes that none of these things are meant to be admonishments.

“Um, excuse me Mr. Perfectly-fitting-khakis and perfectly-wavy-hair,” you toss back, rolling your eyes. Charlie looks pleased.

“Ah, so you have been checking me out.”

“And apparently you have been as well,” you counter gesturing down to your lower half, decked out in said skirt and thigh-high sock combo. Charlie looks down at you appreciatively for a moment before leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands and his elbows on the surface of his desk, watching you.

“The khakis though?”

“And the tweed jacket you sometimes wear,” you affirm, laughing and leaning forward a bit more into his gravitational pull. “And the sweaters.”

“The sweaters do it for you?” Charlie looks taken aback, even more so when you nod enthusiastically. After a second of gazing at you he narrows his eyes a bit. “You do realize those are the most stereotypically “professor-y” things about me.”

You fight the urge to avert your gaze under the weight of the implication and maintain the eye contact.

“Yes.”

“So this is a type for you. You like…the professor look.” His voice has dropped a bit in volume. You look down for a second to consider your reply before looking back up at him through your eyelashes.

“I like it on you.”

You both let the statement echo in the air between you for a moment before speaking again. It is Charlie who breaks the silence first.

“I don’t do…this…you know.” His voice is genuine – more than it has been up until this point – and his eyes are soft. As if giving you an out, pointing the direction to a clean exit. You shake your head and match his tone.

“Neither do I.”

“It isn’t appropriate,” he adds.

“I know.” It’s odd. Dream Charlie usually goes straight for it. You’ve never experienced this kind of confrontation or hesitation in your nighttime fantasies. It makes butterflies erupt in your stomach to think of the outlandish possibility that this might, in fact, be happening in real life.

“But…you want it?” The question is quiet.

“Yes,” comes your equally quiet response. His eyes darken considerably and your stomach flips at the suddenness of the change.

“What do you want?”

You consider this for a moment. What do you want from him? You go down the laundry list of your fantasies. You want him to take you in his arms and make sweet, sweet love to you. You want him to throw you over his desk and take you like you’ve never been taken before. You want to moan his name until it reverberate through his little office and out into the night. However, in this moment when dream and reality seem to mix in the air between you, air made humid by want and hesitation and uncertainty, you realize that all of these things feel like too much too ask. Too much to wish for. And yet Charlie is staring at you, his eyes big and waiting and curious.

So you answer. And you aren’t greedy. But you are honest.

“Whatever you want to give.”

The change is immediate. The threshold is crossed. The barrier breached. Charlie nods slowly as he pushes his chair back a bit from his desk.

“Well then come over here, sweetheart.”

You don’t think, you just act.

Because in this moment it doesn’t matter that Charlie is your professor. It doesn’t matter that he’s your thesis advisor your mentor for that matter. It doesn’t matter that he’s older than you or that he has a son or that he’s recently divorced. All that matters is that the eye contact between you acts as a tether, pulling you up out of your chair and around the desk to the space in front of him, where you step between his legs silently, without specific prompting. Charlie’s clasped hands are back in his lap and he leans back in his chair, looking up at you. Drinking you in.

“You promise you want this, love?” His eyes are gentle. Again giving you a way out. An exit opportunity that you do not desire. You lean forward slowly, testing the waters as your hands make contact with his broad, solid shoulders. The first time you’ve ever truly touched the man who’s starred in your fantasies.

“More than anything.” You could be ashamed of how much that sounds like shitty porn, but again, you couldn’t care less. Not when his skin is hot beneath the fabric of his sweater. Not when his hands lift from his lap then to slide around the curve of your hips. Not when you look down to see that they had been hiding the growing bulge which now tents his slacks so deliciously you don’t know what to do with yourself. You’re anything but inexperienced but there’s something about this grown man absolutely devouring you with his eyes that makes you feel small and soft and vulnerable.

His massive hands glide around your hips to gently massage at the globes of your ass before smoothing back up to the dip of your waist. He squeezes twice at the flesh there while looking at you with hooded eyes.

“Can you hop up for me?” Charlie’s voice is low, hands pushing you gently backwards toward the desk which you hop up on without further prompting. Charlie stands then to move between your open legs before you can try to close them demurely. You feel the thickness of his body as it slots against your inner thighs. Air leaves your lungs in a gust when Charlie, now towering over you, grabs hold of you. He seems to register the gasp and loosens his grip immediately. He doesn’t know his own strength. Hasn’t had to be gentle, or rough for that matter, in a while.

You, on the other hand, kick into gear. The solidity of his hands on your body, the pinch of his grip on your waist, the hard nudge against your inner thigh, the warmth of his breath on your cheek – all of these are grounding. They are real. Your brain lurches forward at the realization that this is, in fact, happening, just as your body lurches forward to pull him down in blistering kiss. Charlie catches up quick, one hand flying to the back of your neck to bring you in close while the other gropes down to steady himself on your upper thigh.

Feeling his digits so close to where you want them has you pulling your legs open wider. Willing him to take things a step further. This doesn’t go unnoticed and soon Charlie is pulling away, chest rising and falling as he pants from the force of your kiss. His eyes are even darker now, lids hooded as he takes in your parted, now-swollen lips and your own lustful expression.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” He asks the question on a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. You shrug in his arms, distracted by the way his hand begins to smooth back and forth over the fabric of your skirt before finally dipping under the hem to caress the skin at the seam of your inner, upper thigh.

“You’re incredible,” you breathe back, but he shakes his head again.

“You’ve tried to get my attention, but I don’t think you truly understand how maddeningly successful you were.” His hand slides under your skirt to cup your mound – but just the top. Not the dripping heat below, where you really want him. He’s too busy trying to make a point you’re barely able to follow. “You carry yourself with such grace, such poise. You’re radiant when you walk into a room, and even more radiant when you open that pretty mouth up to speak.”

The hand at the back of your neck pulls around to trace the outline of your lips. They quiver under his touch and part unconsciously. This seems to please Charlie, who pinches your bottom lip lightly between his thumb and index finger as he continues.

“The way you handle yourself, the way you think and articulate – it’s mesmerizing, you know that, don’t you?” He leans forward to press kisses to your jaw and the space below your ear. You don’t know what to say to that, not with his lips on you, so you just inhale deeply, holding onto his biceps. “You’re so capable. So sure.”

His thumb passes back and forth over your pubic bone down under your skirt.

“I often find myself imagining what it would look like for you to let go.” His voice is so deep you feel it seeping into you where he murmurs it against the skin at the side of your throat. “What it would feel like to be the one who makes you come undone.”

The whimper that issues forth from you is completely unbidden and he’s quick to swallow it down. Sucking the sound in so it cannot echo through the room and give you away to anyone wandering the faculty wing afterhours, but also so that he can feel it vibrate down his own throat.

“You like that idea, too, hmm?” He asks huskily when he pulls away.

“Yes,” you whisper, not wanting to break the spell of the moment by speaking too loudly. “I really do, Charlie.”

Charlie chuckles against you quietly.

“There’s my girl. But perhaps this is a good time to call me Professor Barber.”

A thrill shoots through your spine, and though you feel no less fluttery and overwhelmed, you feel your nervousness and timidity begin to melt away. You’ve wanted this for how long? You’re going to enjoy this, damn it.

“You accused me of being into professors, but it seems that you are into students, Professor Barber,” you point out playfully. Charlie kisses the corner of your smirk.

“Only when the student is you,” he replies, slightly echoing your earlier statement about your interest in him.

“Oh yeah? Am I your favorite student?” Your smile broadens cheekily, only for your jaw to drop as his fingers suddenly breach the edge of your panties, finally finding your wet heat.

“What do you think?” His index finger slides through your folds, swirling around your waiting slick. You take the opportunity to drop your hand between you two, finding the thickened bulge pressing conspicuously into your thigh.

“I think you’re avoiding the quest – fuck!” You cut yourself off with a curse when Charlie inserts two fingers straight into your cunt, stretching you open abruptly. The hand you have on his clothed cock squeezes, as does the hand you have on his arm, but Charlie manages to keep his cool, inhaling through gritted teeth. He waits a second before he begins pumping his fingers in and out of your clenching sheath.

“I’m not avoiding anything, I’ll give it to you straight, sweetheart.” He adds his thumb to swirl circles over your clit as he speaks, his fingers thrusting in and out of your body while it squelches around him.

“I fought off every other professor in this department for the chance to be your thesis chair.” Charlie’s other hand moves to the neck of your blouse to run the pads of his fingers over your throat and collar bone. “I turned away ten other applicants that semester that I had you TA for me.” He pops the uppermost two buttons on your top and leans forward to deliver a lascivious suck to the dip above your clavicle. “I’m the one who nominated you for that fellowship you deserved.”

“Professor Barber I-I…” You’re too overwhelmed to continue. The information, his fingers, his lips – it’s all too much.

“So when you ask if you’re my favorite student, the answer is yes,” Charlie rumbles, licking a stripe up the column of your throat. When he reaches you ear he whispers in it, just as he doubles the pressure on your clit and curves his fingers to rub the upper wall of your cunt more pointedly. “You can thank me by letting me see what it looks like when you fall apart.”

So you do. Your legs shake around him and your hips buck, simultaneous seeking to increase and reduce the pressure onslaught being brought on by his talented fingers. A hand flails out to ground you to the desk, to the moment, and your palm splays blindly at your thesis binder.

As all your muscles convulse with the sweet, sweet pleasure, Charlie guides you down so that your back is flush against the surface of his desk. He leans down over your body, chest to heaving chest, to press kisses up your throat. Your jaw. Your cheek. Until finally he arrests your parted lips.

You should have been allowing bliss to course through your bloodstream as you came down, but you find your mind immediately racing as you consider everything you should be doing in this next moment. You should return the favor. You should run. You should pretend this was a mistake, you should pretend this never happened, you should make sure it will happen again.

As if he hears the gears turning in your mind Charlie pulls back to take in your expression, holding himself up on his forearms on either side of your body.

“All good in there?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss below your right eye. His eyes are still dark as they gaze down at you and his lips are kiss swollen. They look amazing, temporarily distracting you from your inner turmoil. So instead of answering him you lurch upward to pull him into another kiss, sweeping your tongue into his mouth with a little too much enthusiasm. You also make a choice about what to do next, dropping a hand down to the front of his slacks to once again rest on his clothed cock. Charlie moans into your mouth in response.

Yep. You were going to return the favor.

But before you can do so, however, a knock comes at the door. It would appear fate had different plans.

Charlie practically throws his body off of yours, one hand flying to his beautifully rumpled hair and the other to his pink, wet lips. You wide eyes meet as you jump from the table silently and frantically resituate your clothes into some semblance of respectability. Gaping at him you gesture at the door and Charlie finally calls out.

“Finishing up a meeting with another student – I’ll be done in a moment.”

A moment passes in the blink of an eye as you scoop up your belongings, your back to Charlie who has turned to his desk. Your entire body feels like it is on fire – from excitement, from shame, you’re not sure which – and you start to slink toward the door before you hear your name called. You swivel on your heel to find Charlie holding something out to you. 

“Don’t forget your thesis,” he says, placing your assignment into your hands with a pointed look down at it. You follow his glance to find a post-it note with a phone number stuck to the surface of the binder.

Charlie’s phone number. You clutch the binder to your chest to hide the note.

You look up to find Charlie closer to you. He places one warm hand on your waist and the other under your chin.

“I expect to see the next draft by next week,” he says. His words are a little louder than necessary, probably for the benefit of whoever is standing outside the door. But his stare bores into you. “Contact me if you need anything.”

And with that you turn around and make a hasty retreat out the door, leaving a likely puzzled student, and the man of your dreams, in your wake as you and put as much distance between you and what you had just done.

Though truth be told, as you grip tightly onto your thesis binder and feel the ache burning deeper inside you, you’re also trying to decrease the distance between you and what’s hopefully more to come in the future. 

~*~


End file.
